Swallowtail Ch. 07

She's done. She has taken a step back and appears to be surveying her handiwork.

I balance on the backrest, largely immobile and wholly vulnerable.

I look up and see our reflection in the door to the patio. It's dark outside and it's doubtful that anyone will see me, but it's impossible not to imagine eyes in the darkness, witnessing my degradation. Dex approaches me from behind. She has something in her hand but I can't make it out. The distant lights of the city outside the window distort the picture of what's going on in here. I feel like I'm on display, my humiliation visible to anyone who cares to look.

I feel her as she presses against me, fabric whispers against my ass. She runs her fingers through my hair and then pulls my head up. Her other hand presses a ball to my lips.

"Open."

I'm not sure what she wants. A hand leaves my head and abruptly smacks my bare ass with a loud crack. I guess my mouth must have opened at the shock because it's soon filled with a ball.

She fastens the straps of the ball gag behind my head. She has taken my mobility and now my voice. My dignity is long gone.

She steps behind me and rubs my ass down to my distended scrotum. Sensation there is enhanced and despite my self-disgust at this moment I squirm under her touch. Every sensation is heightened, whether from vulnerability or trapped blood flow I don't know.

I feel the slow trickle of cold between my cheeks. Not again, I think. Something cold and metallic presses against my anus, smearing the lube over its surface. Dex takes her time inserting whatever it is.

A gasp whispers from around the gag as the device penetrates the ring of muscle that is unprepared for this intrusion. I then feel its passage within me, easier now, until it can go no further.

Dex leaves the object and fumbles with the strap of the ball gag. It takes a moment for me to understand what she is doing. The device in my ass is a hook of some sort. Dex has tied the hook to the strap that holds the gag in place. If I tip my head forward, the hook buries itself ever more deeply into me. To avoid the pressure, I have to look up.

Dex, I think to myself, is one depraved woman.

She steps into my line of sight again. "Feeling okay?" she asks absently.

I attempt to nod and the insistent tugging reminds me to be more careful about sudden movements. She holds in her fingers what looks like a wooden skewer. I have a panicked notion of some kind of prehistoric piercing device but she seems to have nothing of the sort in mind. Instead, she runs the pointy end of the skewer down my back and around the curve of my ass.

It feels like she's etching furrows and impaling the stick into my tender balls though I know she's probably exerting the lightest of touches. I'm about ready to crawl out of my skin. She's torturing me with pleasure and the release that feels imminent is nonetheless miles away.

I feel her breath on the stub of my cock that emerges from the rope cocoon. She has positioned herself between my legs and presently I feel her tongue on me, ever so hot against the engorged and distended crown of my shaft.

She reaches around and rakes my ass with her fingernails. Her lips surround me now and I am bathed in heat. A thread of saliva dribbles out of my mouth and onto the seat of the chair. I don't care. My attention is torn between the play of her lips and tongue and teeth on my cock and the ache that is growing in my neck. I lower my head in an attempt at finding relief, only to be rewarded by an insistent tugging at my ass. Release is long overdue but is held in barely in abeyance by the rope. Every touch makes me want to squirm out of my skin. My breathing quickens. This is torture, I think.

Dex stops what she was doing, leaving me hard and frustrated. The binding leaves me painfully engorged. My arousal can't dissipate.

She rises from between my legs and smacks me hard. The whip-crack of sound more than the pain jolts me back to reality.

This isn't play anymore. This is the application of power, pure and simple.

"You were going to come, weren't you?"

I don't know what to say.

Another smack. This one I feel.

"Answer me."

I grunt as best I can around the gag.

She walks around to the front of the chair and loosens the gag, allowing it to drop around my neck like a collar. I'm grateful for it and work the ache out of my jaws.

Dex steps back and studies me. There's a curious look on her face and I can't begin to try to decipher it.

She pulls my head back and kisses me, pushing her tongue into my mouth which such a hunger that I momentarily forget my growing anger. She breathes into me, hot and insistent. I'd like to grab her, throw her onto the floor and take her, but I can't.

She steps back again. She's flushed and a smile plays on her lips. She's teasing me now, knowing that she's tantalizingly visible but out of reach.

I'm better than this, I think to myself. I'm worth more than this. And yet there's nothing I want more than the temptress who has bound me.

She shimmies out of her skirt and stands before me, legs parted slightly. I see the swallowtail tattoo and the various piercings that adorn her sex.

Dex approaches and perches one leg on an armrest while the other remains in the floor. She grasps me by the back of the head and draws me toward her pelvis.

"I come first," she says.

I can sense that her arousal has quietly matched my own. She pulls me to her and my lips and tongue find her. Her fingers frame and spread her labia, giving me easier access. My neck is aching and I am merciless with her, partly because this is the only revenge I'm capable of, partly because her release might hasten my own. She grinds into me.

Her hand leaves the back of my head and finds the rope that is attached to the hook. She holds it like a rein, controlling me with tugs and gasped commands.

She is taking the release she has denied me.

I pull her clitoris into my mouth, trapping its base between my teeth. I suck hard and lash it with my tongue, indifferent to the tenderness of the area. I hear a sharp intake of breath just before a sharp, painful tug on the rope forces me to release her.

I'm chastened and furious. I skirt the edges of violence as I punish her sex. Despite my indifference to her fulfillment, a muted gasp announces that she has somehow derived pleasure in the face of pain.

She's flushed with victory when she steps away from me, just off to the side. "Now what do you want to do?"

"I want you to untie me."

"Why?"

"I want you."

I'm jolted by a blow to my ass. The force and surprise of it take my breath away. My eyes water. What the fuck?

"I want to make love to you," I say, though love is the farthest thing from my mind.

Another blow, harder than the last. The sharp sound seems to echo in the room, leaving a profound silence in its wake. "Wrong answer."

What does she want? What does she need to hear? "I want to fuck you!"

"Better." Another smack. "How?"

How? I don't know how to answer.

Her hand lands again with a resounding smack. The skin burns.

"Without remorse."

"I don't believe you."

"Untie me and I'll show you," I growl.

Dex laughs as though she doesn't believe me. Her laugh is a mockery of my manhood. For the first time I see something in her that I haven't seen before. There's a glimmer of superiority in how she regards me. She loosens the rope that ties my wrists together. "Make sure that you do." She leaves the room.

***

This is how I imagine a bull feels when he is taunted by the waving red cape and imagines his elusive tormentor behind it. My pulse thunders in my head, a drum at my temples. I want to get even, recover a piece of myself that I've allowed to be stolen. For the first time that Dex has been calling the shots, I feel truly diminished. For the first time, it grates on me that I have to ask permission. That this kid has made me needy to the point of having to beg for it. My old self would never have stood for it. What has she turned me into?

I fumble with the rope around my wrists until both hands are free and then untie my ankles. I then free my distended scrotum from the cone of rope that has trapped it. The hook falls to the floor. What kind of lunatic does that sort of thing? What kind of pathetic loser allows something like that to be done?

I seethe as I enter my own bedroom.

She's lying naked on the bed, her back turned to me. My gaze traces the contour of her waist to the rise of her hips and the gentle slope of her legs, one slightly bent and tucked in front of the other. There's beauty in the arrangement of her body but it doesn't register. The sight of her enflames me. Her casual nudity and the thought that she can and probably will deny me, just to heap frustration on my hunger, swamps my reason.

There's no stealth in my approach, nor is there any acknowledgement of it from Dex. She just lies there, indifferent to me. I grasp her by the shoulder and roll her over to face me. The haughty smile that plays momentarily on her lips dies. She sees something in my face. I feel that same something in my heart. This isn't play anymore.

She opens her mouth. The protest or command that might have come out is trapped by my hand. Her eyes widen and she turns to roll away from me, to escape. I grab her hip, pushing it violently back on the bed.

I roll onto her before she can squirm away and pin her beneath me. I feel disembodied, as though I'm watching myself on film. Even as I subdue her, I think: this isn't me. I'm not one to throw my weight around, to use my size and strength to my advantage with a woman.

In the process of subduing her, my forearm comes to rest across her throat. I'm applying little pressure but we both know I could crush her if I wanted to. She lies stock still. My other hand grasps her breast roughly. I want her to fight, to fan the flames of my own anger, give me an excuse for the force I'm ready to apply, but her silence and immobility is already depriving my rage of its oxygen.

All this without Dex uttering a word.

I force her legs apart. She yields to me as a doll might. Even as I penetrate her, I realize that I've lost. She has turned her head to the side and even with her face averted, I can see the disappointment and sadness etched there.

I want to punish her. I take her as violently as I can, riding the ebbing power of my rage, but release eludes me. The mechanics of fucking are reduced to snapshots—of breasts riding high on the ribcage, compelled by a violent thrust, of a cock slammed mercilessly into the hidden recesses of another, of pelvises joined. Meaningless.

I don't know if it's because of Dex's unresponsiveness or my own self-loathing at this moment, but I stop. There's no pleasure in this. No possibility of fulfillment. The act itself mocks me now.

I roll off her and lie beside her, not touching. There are long minutes of silence, my breathing labored, hers quiet. "I'm sorry," I say finally.

More silence. I dread the words, should they be spoken. We've talked endlessly about lines—those that can be crossed, those that can't. I've clearly crossed one.

"I provoked you," says Dex finally. "It was my responsibility to prepare you. I didn't. I was arrogant. You didn't consent."

Consent. I'd never thought of that. In my life consent was always assumed, a logical extension of whatever happened before.

"It doesn't matter," I say. "It's no excuse."

More time passes. Silence stretches, pulling us further apart.

"I'd like you to make love to me," she says finally.

"After this?"

She nods.

"I can't." Her eyebrows rise a fraction. "I don't even know how you can ask."

I can't see her face as she gets out of bed and collects her clothes. She locks herself in the ensuite. There are several long minutes of absolute silence and eventually I hear her getting dressed. I could ask her to stay. Part of me would be glad for it. Part of me recoils at the thought.

Dex leaves without uttering a word.

***

Thanks for reading. As always, I welcome your comments.